


Series Three +

by Maddie_Jae



Series: Series Three + [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 22:46:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maddie_Jae/pseuds/Maddie_Jae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm not lonely, Sherlock."</p><p>"How would you know?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Series Three +

_December 27, 2013_.

 

 

Mr. Holmes picked up his buzzing mobile, not bothering to glance at the name as he answered the incoming call.

“Hello?”

“Hello dad, how are you?”

“Well, really well, how are you, son?”

“Not too great, honestly.”

The two men chatted about Mrs. Holmes and her latest interest, a new book club, Mr. Holmes’s latest woodworking project, and the Holmes’s youngest son, before the conversation finally turned to the reason for the call.

“Dad, how did you know mom was the one for you?”

Mr. Holmes smiled slightly; “You really don’t know, son. Love isn’t a matter of the head, it’s illogical, with no practical uses, and is even dangerous in it’s own way. Your mother is of the opinion that if you overthink love, you’ll think yourself right out of it. The best way to tell, though, is to give it a fighting chance, which can mean a lot of things, like finding the right balance in life and in the bedroom, compromising, being kind, and being a good listener.” Mr. Holmes paused, looking softly at a photograph of his wife and himself on their wedding day. “Also, realize now that the person who you know today won’t be there tomorrow, they’ll change and grow, and it’s important for you to grow as well. You don’t have to like the same things or even talk every day, but don’t be rigid and inflexible.” There was a long pause as the voice on the other end of the line absorbed these words.

“Mycroft, I know that you probably think that because of your position, you must lead a lonely life, but that’s not true son, you deserve someone, you of all people.”

Mycroft Holmes cleared his throat. “Thank you for talking to me, dad. I have to go now. Send my love to mother.”

“Sure, Mike, let me know how it works out. Bye.”

 

 _“Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system-_ Detective Inspector Lestrade _-is unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone.”_

_Beep._

“Gregory, it’s me, I- I am so ashamed of my behavior towards you. If it’s too late and you’ve changed your mind, I understand completely and it’s nothing more than I deserve to lose the person I love most in this world. But if there is even the slightest chance you still love me, I promise, I will make it up to you. I’ll be at your flat after you get off work this evening, but if you want me to stay away, I will. I love you, Gregory, I’m sorry I didn’t say it before. I love you.”

 

_March 5, 2013._

 

Greg Lestrade pulled his coat tight around his frame as he walked away from the police tape, squad cars, and a dozen or so officers. The frigid wind buffeted the man, biting his exposed skin and making his eyes water slightly, Greg looked around the street for his pair of consulting detectives, both of whom were standing beside a black car with another man. Greg hung back, giving their conversation privacy and taking the opportunity for a smoke.

Greg had nearly finished his cigarette and was considering a second one when John Watson, ex-army doctor and consulting detective, joined the detective inspector on the sidewalk.

“Where’s he off to?” Greg asked, jerking his head to Sherlock Holmes’ retreating frame.

“Said he wanted to take one more look, something Mycroft said has him second-guessing himself.”

Greg turned his head toward the tall man Sherlock and John had been talking to; Mycroft Holmes stood with his back to Greg and John, talking on a mobile and gently swinging a closed umbrella around his feet. Mycroft Holmes, Greg mused; he had heard the name before, Sherlock mentioned his brother occasionally, usually when working on a particularly difficult case. Apparently this man was so brilliant, he made Sherlock Holmes seem dim-witted. John, however, had never used the same awed tone as Sherlock when he spoke of Mycroft; ‘overly dramatic’ was the term John had used. The shout of a certain consulting detective broke Greg’s focus, he turned to look back at the crime scene, where a dark-headed man was currently leaning out of a second story window, shouting and waving at John to come look at something.

“Better go see,” John said, dismissing himself as he quickly walked away, leaving Greg alone on the side of the dark street.

The detective inspector sighed and pulled his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, suddenly quite unconcerned that he should be trying to cut back and instead focusing on the slight rush whenever he took a drag. Greg was quite surprised when a soft voice behind him suddenly said, “Could I borrow a light?”

Turning and fumbling in his coat pocket for his lighter, Greg smiled at the tall man who had made him jump. He had short hair, long fingers that currently housed an unlit cigarette, and was wearing a posh suit; when Greg held the flame close to the man’s face, he noted the auburn color of his hair and a multitude of freckles on his face and neck.

“Are you Sherlock’s brother?” Greg asked, pocketing his lighter and taking his cigarette out from between his lips.

The taller man nodded, holding out his hand to Greg while awkwardly exhaling smoke away from Greg’s face before answering. “Mycroft Holmes, and you must be Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. John and Sherlock have told me a lot about you.” Greg noticed how the man’s eyes shone, even in the dim light, and how they seemed to bore into his.

“John has told you about me?” Greg asked, fairly surprised that he had been a topic of conversation between the two. Greg actually had the impression that John was less than fond of Mycroft Holmes, and that the two men had only had a handful of conversations; to think that John had mentioned him to this man, the supposed genius, made him nervous.

Mycroft Holmes gave Greg a polite smile, turning to the side slightly so he could exhale without immersing Greg in smoke. “Ah, sorry, I meant John’s blog, you’re mentioned quite a few times, not by name of course, but it’s a bit obvious you’re the detective inspector John refers to.”

 _Ah, of course_ , Greg thought stupidly. Greg kept up with John’s blog, along with half of Scotland Yard, it only made sense that Sherlock’s older brother, who (according to Sherlock) was always interested in Sherlock’s activities, would also be a reader. The two men smoked in silence for several minutes, an awkward silence on Greg’s part, though Mycroft seemed well at ease. Greg dropped his cigarette butt and squashed it with his heel, again pulling his jacket tighter around him.

“Sherlock said you work for the government?” Greg said, trying to sound offhand.

Mycroft nodded, taking another drag from his cigarette and blowing the smoke above his head. Greg noted the way Mycroft’s neck extended when the man was looking up. “I have a minor position in the defense agency, yes.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

Mycroft turned his piercing eyes back on Greg and looked very hard at him, though his tone stayed light. “I suppose so, I would say it’s ‘just a job’ but it has become the better part of my life, it seems I’m always working these days.” Greg glanced at his own feet, not knowing if Mycroft had intentionally snubbed him before he could lead the conversation to where he wanted, asking Mycroft out for a pint sometime.

“It’s a shame, that.” Greg said with a sigh, the cold air frosting his breath.

It was then that Sherlock and John rejoined them, Sherlock immediately capturing the attention of his brother. Greg turned to John, trying not to let the tall ginger’s rejection bother him. “I think Sherlock’s just about figured this one out,” John said.

“Yes, I’ll be at Scotland Yard in the morning to tell you all about it.” Sherlock interrupted, looking at Greg with an odd expression before turning back to his brother.

“Well, that’s good.” Greg said lightheartedly, grinning at John.

“Yes. Doing anything tonight, Greg?” John asked.

“Nope, no plans.” Greg said, not meeting John’s gaze. Greg’s wife had taken off again last week, vowing to never return. Greg had been having a rough time being in the flat alone, boredom was beginning to get the better of him.

“Want to grab a pint?”

“That sounds great, mate.” Greg and John said their goodbyes to the Holmes brothers and set off for the main road in search of a cab.

 

Neither John nor Greg wanted to get smashed, Greg was perfectly content with the buzz that had formed along the base of his skull and spent the rest of the evening talking to John at the bar.

“How’s Mary?”

“Good, she’s good, thanks.” John said, taking another sip from his mug.

“Have you heard from-” “No.” Greg said, looking into his empty mug, “No, I don’t think she’s coming back this time.” He nodded to himself and his mug.

“I’m sorry, mate.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it’s for the best.” Greg shrugged. “She’s walked out almost a half dozen times now, it’s been ridiculous.”

John didn’t answer, instead taking a long draught from his mug. Shouts erupted from the other side of the room, John and Greg turned to see two men pushing each other and shouting profanities. John jumped from his seat to go break up the fight, leaving Greg to watch the much shorter man break up the angry pair. Greg chuckled good-naturedly, he knew this part of John from their many bar crawls during the time Sherlock was ‘dead’, he and John had become decent friends during that time, but John was always up to bat when it came to breaking up fights or participating in them.

Greg’s phone buzzed twice in his hip pocket. Keeping a watchful eye on John, lord knows the kind of trouble that man can get into, Greg flipped open his mobile to a text from an unknown number.

_This is my personal number, if anything happens to my brother while he is working with you or any member of Scotland Yard, I expect to be the first person you inform. -M.H._

Greg mashed on the buttons as he saved the number and typed up a reply.

_Sure thing, Mycroft. It was nice to meet you._

Greg hit ‘send’ and turned back to look for John; after scanning the room twice, Greg stood and shrugged on his jacket, grabbing John’s off the back of his chair as he walked towards the exit. He found the doctor alone on the curb with his hands shoved in his jeans pockets.

“That went well.” Greg commented, handing the jacket over.

“Fucker elbowed me in the face.” John grunted, donning his jacket while Greg hailed a taxi.

 

_April 21, 2013_

 

When the words on the pages Greg was reading had been swimming for about ten minutes, the detective inspector gave up on paperwork and pinched the bridge of his nose. The clock on the wall read 7:55 pm, almost late enough for Greg to go home without having to actually spend the evening alone. At least if he was working late, he wouldn’t feel like the loneliness was winning.

Greg’s phone beeped underneath a pile of papers and photographs; lazily batting the paperwork aside, Greg grabbed his phone and flipped it open.

_The case my brother is currently assisting the Yard with worries me, there is more involvement than he realizes. A car will be outside NSY at 8pm, I have information to share. -M.H._

Greg glanced at the clock on the wall again before standing, stretching, grabbing his coat, and leaving the mess on his desk for in the morning. Once outside the Yard, Greg lit up a cigarette and sent plumes of smoke into the night sky. When a dark car pulled up to the curb directly in front of Greg, he didn’t hesitate in dropping his cigarette and entering the car, stepping out his light on the way.

The dark car sped through traffic for quite some time, London passed by the windows as Greg lazily gazed out, not paying attention to where he was being taken. The car stopped outside of a small but obviously elegant restaurant; Greg grimaced sourly at his casual clothes before entering. Once inside, a waiter stopped him before he could give a name, said something in French, and lead him to a private room upstairs.

Mycroft Holmes stood when Greg entered the room, stepped forward to shake his hand then motioned to the seat opposite his own. “Thank you for taking the time to see me tonight, Gregory, I’m sorry I gave you such short notice.”

“It’s all right.” Greg said, accepting a menu from the waiter. “I didn’t have plans anyway, it’s nice to get out of the house.” Greg gave Mycroft a good natured smile before opening his menu. _Shit_ , he thought as he scanned through, everything was in French and nothing had a price next to it. _Good thing I’ve been eating in lately._

Mycroft stood and poured white wine in Greg’s glass, then poured himself a little, saying; “As I asked you on this date, if you’ll allow me to cover your bill I would be greatful.”

“Are you sure?” Greg asked, his eyebrows rising a little at the word ‘date’.

“I insist.” The taller man said, turning away from the ice-filled wine bucket and taking his seat once again.

“Thank you.” Greg said, taking a sip of his wine. Mycroft smiled and didn’t answer, instead speaking softly in fluid french to the waiter who had just entered with a basket of bread. “Chicken or beef?” Mycroft asked, turning his attention to Greg. Greg chose and again Mycroft uttered a fluid string of french to the waiter, who bowed slightly and backed out of the room.

“So how did you meet my brother, Gregory?” Mycroft asked, reaching for his glass of wine.

“I received a string of texts about cases that had gone cold. I decided to check the files and turns out we found several killers and were able to close several files. That lasted around three months before Sherlock came to meet me at my office. He slipped past security and nearly thirty officers, burst through my door and started discussing the case I was working on at the time.” Greg grinned at the memory, aware that Mycroft was staring at him.

“And you didn’t think it suspicious that he had new information on cold cases?”

“I absolutely did, but he had solid alibis and after I had seen what he could do, I wasn’t worried about it.”

“He impressed you.” Mycroft said, leaning back in his chair and rolling his eyes. “He’s not even that good.” Mycroft looked back at Greg, who was looking at the red haired man thoughtfully, eyes travelling from his face to his suit, to his hands, and back again. “What are you thinking?”

“That thing Sherlock does, did you teach him that?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re better than him?”

“Naturally.”

Greg didn’t reply and looked the man up and down again before sighing. “So you know almost everything there is to know about me?”

Mycroft laughed. “My brother is a show off, isn’t he? No, I don’t know everything about you, but I can plainly see how you’ve spent the day and your general mood of late.”

“How?”

“Surely you know, you’ve spent a lot of time with my brother, you know how he does it. I’m not so different.” Mycroft smiled politely at his date, who glanced over his appearance.

“Can you teach me how to do that?” Greg asked, leaning forward slightly.

“I doubt it.” Mycroft said honestly, sounding apologetic. “But we can give it a go. Tell me what signs are on you from how you spent your day.” Mycroft lifted a pale hand and pointed at a mirror to Greg’s left, the detective inspector turned in his seat to look at himself.

After almost a minute of self-reflection, Greg turned back to the taller man. “All right, tell me what you deduce and I’ll find the sign.” Mycroft smiled, how nice it was to play this game with someone other than Sherlock, even if Gregory was slower than Mycroft’s brother.

“You spent your day at your desk, doing paperwork and typing up reports.”

Greg thought for a moment and looked down at his hands, then lifted his middle finger on his right hand and pointing out an ink spot that always appeared on his last knuckle when he wrote with a pen.

“Here,” he said, “you can tell I was doing paperwork from where I hold my pen and some ink got on my finger. And,” Greg said as Mycroft opened his mouth to speak. “I got a papercut today, here.” Greg held out his other hand, showing off his miniscule wound.

Mycroft gave Greg a small smile. “Go on.”

Greg turned back to his reflexion, “You can tell I was looking at my computer screen all day from,” he paused, looking crossly at himself, “my eyes?”

Mycroft smiled, it was small, but it was a real smile, Greg decided, looking at the way his eyes crinkled. “Yes, exactly.” Mycroft said, leaning forward over the table. “You’ve been rubbing at them. Tell me more, there’s one more sign that’s obvious.”

As Greg thought about it, Mycroft stayed still, leaning forward over the small table and watching the man think.

“I don’t know.” Greg said at last.

“Take your time.” Mycroft said, steepling his fingers under his chin.

Greg turned back to his reflection, then back at the door as their waiter bustled in with a tray of food for the two men, effectively ending that conversation.

The conversation flowed easily throughout dinner, and though the men initially spoke only of Sherlock, they soon found themselves discussing their own interests, hobbies, and still more personal matters. Greg was pleased to realize the taller man found him interesting, and truly, Mycroft couldn’t remember laughing so much in one night. As the dinner plates, basket of bread, and finally dessert plates were taken away by the staff, the two men grinned fondly at one another.

“Unfortunately, Gregory, I did call you here to discuss a case.” Mycroft said as he pulled his briefcase from the floor beside his chair.

“Is this about the case Sherlock is assisting with?” Mycroft nodded, handing over a manilla folder. “It was taken from me by my higher-ups. Apparently there was an international issue?”

“Yes, that was me.” Mycroft admitted, which earned him a surprised look from the graying man. “One of the men found in that house was a French special services agent, he was here on international business, and the French are quite upset at his death. They want results, but there isn’t much to go on.”

“And the other body? The burned one?” Greg asked, flipping through the file.

“Dental records indicate it was the body of the late James Moriarty.”

 

“You’ll give my brother the files?” Mycroft asked as the two men exited the restaurant.

“I’ll drop them by his flat on my way to work tomorrow.” Greg promised, standing on the curb next to his date. It was late, half past eleven; the two men had quite lost track of time during dinner, Mycroft especially. It was only when Greg let out a long yawn that Mr. Holmes checked his watch and suggested they leave so the wait staff could go home.

“So how did I do with the deductions?” Greg asked with a grin.

“You didn’t make any deductions, Gregory.” Mycroft reminded him, returning the smile. “But you did well with realizing the signs. Did you ever see the last one?”

“How you knew I’d been at my desk all day?” Mycroft nodded as he pulled out his mobile and sent a text to his driver.

“My shirt, I guess.” Greg said nervously, looking up at the taller man.

“That’s right, you iron your shirt every morning, and if you sit all day, the wrinkles have a pattern across your abdomen indicating so.” Mycroft motioned towards the man’s stomach region as he spoke, even though the shirt in question was covered by Greg’s jacket.

“Excellent.” Greg said, clearly proud of himself.

Mycroft smiled and opened the car door as it stopped on the curb. He held the door open for Greg, shut it gently then walked to the other side of the car.

“Next step.” Mycroft said after Greg gave the driver his address. The car sped along the nearly empty streets, casting finicky lights over the men’s faces. “You know signs, tell me what you see about me.” The two men turned towards each other in the seats, Greg looking slightly more worried than the other man.

After about a minute of staring, Greg said; “You smoke.”

Mycroft sighed, slumping his shoulders as he did so. “Yes, but you already knew that.”

“But you haven’t smoked today.” Greg said, looking over the man’s suit. Mycroft raised his eyebrows, his disappointment gone as soon as it had come on. “Yes?”

“So you had a pleasant day,” Greg said slowly, worrying about Mycroft’s sigh when he’d stated the obvious. “But you didn’t do much today, whatever you’ve been working on the past few weeks is resolved and worked out in your favor.”

“That’s right, Gregory.” Mycroft said, turning forward in his seat. “I can’t talk about it, but yes, things worked well today.”

Greg smiled at the tall, suddenly mysterious man. Mycroft grinned back, more of a smirk, actually; he’d seen Greg’s curiosity on his face. “Anything else?”

Greg’s smile vanished, and he looked out his window at the night. “You don’t have any friends, do you?”

“No.” Mycroft said honestly. “I’ve never got on with anyone, never met anyone who could capture my attention and match my intellect.”

Greg noted that Mycroft didn’t sound upset, but that hardly meant anything when dealing with a genius. “I’m sorry, Mycroft, that was rude of me. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“It’s quite alright, Gregory. I don’t find it offensive.” The two men quieted, looking out their respective windows at London as it whisked by the car.

When the driver pulled onto Greg’s street, the detective inspector turned back to Mycroft. “Thank you for dinner, Mr. Holmes, I had fun.”

“Certainly, Gregory, I’m glad you chose to join me.” Greg opened the car door, Mycroft doing the same on the opposite side and walking around the car to meet Greg on the sidewalk.

“Listen, Mycroft.” Greg said, kicking his shoes against the pavement a bit. “If you need anything, anything at all, I just wanted to say, you can come to me.”

Mycroft’s eyebrows raised delicately. He actually stuttered, an annoying habit he’d rid himself of when he was eight but still occasionally did when taken by surprise, before asking “Why?”

“Because you’re lonely.” Greg said unabashed, looking into the redhead’s eyes. _And so am I._ His thoughts were clear on his face, Mycroft read his expression and blinked several times in quick succession, managing to stutter out a thanks before Greg gave him a small smile, said goodnight and turned towards his flat.

 

_April 27, 2013_

 

_I’ve been thinking about what you said. -M.H._

_? -SH_

_About being lonely. Did you really deduce that or was it one of your games? -M.H._

_Did you find a pleasant goldfish, brother? -SH_

**Author's Note:**

> Dates are based on John's blog, and don't seem to be true to the series. The blog post from Mary and John's honeymoon was in August, but in the series, they were wed in May. So if you see little slips in the dates, I do apologize.


End file.
